


Help me help you

by ShamaelPandora



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Angst, Crying Dean Winchester, Dean Needs A Hug, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Gen, Hugs, Hurt/Comfort, Nightmares, Sharing a Bed
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-05-01
Updated: 2018-05-01
Packaged: 2019-04-30 18:36:57
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 842
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14503068
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ShamaelPandora/pseuds/ShamaelPandora
Summary: Dean is tired. He’s been tired for a long time. He is tired in a way that never goes away. He's desperately worried. Sam helps him.





	Help me help you

Dean is tired. He’s been tired for a long time. He is tired in a way that never goes away. And after what they’ve been through lately, well, it’s quite a lot to take in if he’s being honest. He’s used to shit hitting the fan. It’s what they have always known and it’s normal in their line of business.

 

He mostly avoids looking back though. Because if he does, the weight of everything he’s lived, everything he’s seen, will break on him like a tidal wave, and he needs to keep his head up. He can’t afford to drown even though he’s struggling more than ever. Even though moving forward seems more and more impossible with each passing minute. So much is resting on their shoulder and he doesn’t know how they’ll be able to make it.

 

And the thing is, losing so much so fast renewed his fear of losing Sam. He’s always afraid of losing him of course, but these days, he’s terrified of it. He woke up three nights in a row, sweating, his heart beating too fast, Sam’s name dying on his lips. And he knows it shows.

 

It makes Sam angry, frustrated. But how can Dean explain that he just can’t let this go? He needs to be sure he’s not gonna lose him, not again, not after losing everything. The mere thought of it makes his chest constrict, and his breathing laboured. He’s been thinking for hours now, sitting alone at the table, his half-finished beer still in his hand. Exhausted, he sets it down and puts his head in his arms, trying to pull himself together.

 

It doesn’t work. His breathing is more even but his heart beats too fast and he feels a rushing in his ears. “Come on” he rasps, his voice low, urging himself to calm down. He is so upset that he doesn’t hear the footsteps approaching until, suddenly, he feels a warm hand on his shoulder.

 

He tenses but Sam doesn’t remove his hand, instead sitting on the chair next to him. He doesn’t speak, and Dean doesn’t move. After a while, Sam starts rubbing circles on his back, his warm hand grounding Dean. He’s used to the casual touches, the pats on the back, the shoves, but this, this is different. It’s calming, and far more intimate than what he’s used to. It makes him feel cared for, like he can relinquish his control for once, without being scared of the consequences. Sam is there.

 

He tries raising his head, looking straight ahead. The lingering embarrassment prevents him from meeting Sam’s glance. The hand on his back stops moving and for an instant, Dean is scared Sam is gonna drop it. But then, he pulls Dean towards him and he has barely time to process before he finds himself in an embrace.

 

They rarely hug, only allowing themselves to after almost or actually losing one another. And now that he feels Sam’s breath on his neck, his hands on his back, his chest against his, alive and solid and there, he realises how much he needed it. Raising his arms, he presses them on Sam’s back, pulling him even closer, his hands twisting the fabric of his shirt. They don’t speak, Dean couldn’t say a word even if he wanted to, the lump in his throat growing.

 

Exhausted, he buries his face in the crook of Sam’s neck, desperately trying to regain some control over himself. But then, Sam starts rubbing his back again and Dean lets out a single broken sob, his shoulders shaking. Sam just holds him through it, never saying anything and Dean is desperately grateful for that. Tears slowly seep through the fabric of his shirt while his large hands rub circles on dean’s back.

 

Eventually he stops crying, but still, Sam doesn’t let him go. It’s only when Dean moves that Sam drops his arms, leaving a hand on his shoulder. “Let’s go to bed,” he whispers, gently urging Dean to get up. They make their way through the bunker to Dean’s room. Wordlessly, they remove their jackets and boots. Sam goes to lay down on the bed. Dean stares at him, vaguely confused. Sam shrugs and says in a flippant tone: “Nightmares.”He doesn't elaborate. He doesn’t need to. They both spent too many nights listening to the other scream without daring to do anything. Not anymore.

 

Dean nods jerkily and lays down on his back, next to his brother. They both remain still, neither daring to move. Unexpectedly, it’s Dean who makes the first move, turning on his side and putting a hand on Sam’s chest, right next to his heart. Sam puts his arm around his shoulders and draw him near. They don’t speak and they fall asleep still holding each other. That night, when Dean wakes up, a scream dying on his lips, Sam is there to ground him and help him weather the storm. They still have a lot to figure out but they are ready for it.


End file.
